It starts.

Writing has always been a refuge, a place I go over to hide from everyone else and unload. It’s been a while since I’ve been read, but not long since I last wrote. The words, dots and hyphens are always there. They make my life a little bit more dramatic, a little bit more fun, a little more movie-like.

Life’s ironies are immense. Today I decided it’s time to start again (Alberto, you owe me all the coffees I could ever wish for). Today I start writing because the first words ever written have the same meaning. I start to write because today I heard form someone who long ago took sides, and today they’re attracted by the beauty of what’s been overcome. Today I start writing because I need this freedom again. Today I start.